


Dark Hair and Grey Eyes

by WomanOfWinterfell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Relationships, Siblings, i am really lost on how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8457271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WomanOfWinterfell/pseuds/WomanOfWinterfell
Summary: When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.....





	

The question would often arise when all the Stark children were required to form a line. Sometimes it was in the courtyard when they all were present to greet a guest. Others times it was at special dinners when Arya was not allowed to sit by Jon. 

Arya would feel a tugging at the back of her head. There would be no words, but she would find herself looking from side to side at her siblings. Robb and Sansa on one side, Bran and little Rickon on the other, all with bright smiles, clear blue eyes, and fiery hair. Arya would then find her eyes searching for Jon, who shared her long face and dark hair, and would always find him hidden away, placed in a row behind the family or in a far corner of the great hall. 

Arya didn’t put words to this feeling, she was scared of what they might mean, and figured if she didn’t word it, it would just go away. It didn’t, and Sansa always made it worse. 

When Septa Mordane praised Sansa’s lovely face, delicate hands, or beautiful needlework, the feeling would tug again on Arya. When Septa Mordane would turn to Arya with a huff or sigh, dissapointment heavy on her tongue, the feeling would tug. When Sansa, to polite to smile at her sister’s shame, but who would give glances at Jeyne, who would smile or giggle for her, the feeling would tug. 

Eventually the feelings came to a breaking point, the day Arya overheard Sansa asking their mother a question. 

Arya had been outside her parent's chamber, an awful embroidery, but better than Arya’s norm, of what was supposed to be a Tully fish, in hand. 

“Perhaps there was some mistake?” Sansa’s voice echoed from the room, “Perhaps Arya is not my sister in full? Was she -” 

Arya had not stayed for the rest. She didn’t remember making the decision to run or when she began to cry, yet she found herself darting from the Keep.

She could hear voices that called out while she ran by, but they were nothing more than wind as she ran. Arya kept going until she found herself crumpled on the ground, hidden among the trees of the godswood. 

“ARYA?” She looked up, her mind finally hearing the voice, to find Jon walking towards her, his voice clearly out of breath. “What happened?” he implored, taking a deep breath between the words. 

It’s nothing. I’m sorry. Sansa’s stupid. Arya had a number of possible replies, but they died on her tongue and were replaced with more sobs. 

“Oh little sister,” Jon spoke softly as he knelt on the ground and pulled her tear streaked face into his chest. She couldn’t say how long they sat there, her crying into Jon’s shirt and him gently rocking her back and forth. Eventually her cries turned to tired gasps, and then to silence, just resting her head against Jon. 

“Jon,” Arya pushed herself up, still in his arms but enough to look up into his eye, grey eyes, eyes like hers. “Am I a bastard too?”

“What?” She felt Jon’s arm stiffen around her and watched his mouth fell slightly and blinked a few times. 

“I overheard Sansa ask my moth- Lady Stark,” She stammered, “if there was a mistake, if I was not her sister.” Arya’s voice rose and became faster, “And it makes sense! I am not like Sansa, or Robb, or Bran, or Rickon! I not perfect or pretty like Sansa, I don’t fit with them!”

“Arya…” Jon spoke imploringly, but her ramblings continued. 

“And I don’t look like them! I don’t have the red hair or the blue eyes or the smiles, but I look like you!,” her voice became softer and leaned back into his arms, into the little crook that she fit perfectly in, “I fit with you, more than anyone else. I would rather be a bastard like you then spend more time with Sansa.”

“Arya!” Jon snapped, grasping her shoulders and pushing her back to look at him. Arya was slightly frightened, never having heard Jon use this kind of voice with her. “Don’t ever speak that again! You are a trueborn daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully!” He placed his hands on either side of her face and lowered to a near whisper, “I know you don’t understand what it means to be a bastard and I know you wouldn’t judge anyone for being a bastard, but I have never and will never wish you to be a bastard like me little sister.” 

Jon paused, mouth slightly open, like he had more to say, but instead he closed his mouth and lightly shook his head before speaking again.

“Arya,” Jon took another breath, “Father loves you, and your mother, and Robb, Bran, the baby, and even Sansa. You know this right?”

“Yes.” She mumbled through drying tears.

“And you know that you are always the first in my heart?”

“Yes.” It was mumbled again, accompanied by a slight smile.

“Now you must promise me that you will never question being a bastard again, will you do this?”

Arya snuffled a final yes and was pulled in Jon's arms in an engulfing hug. 

The two returned to the keep once her tears were dry, and with a look from Jon no one questioned the red around her eyes. She stayed by Jon’s side for the rest of the day, mostly quiet if not talking to him. 

When night fell Arya snuck quietly through the halls to Jon’s room and crawled into the bed beside him. He did not give his usual warning about how this could anger Lady Stark, he simply pulled her into his arms with a kiss on her forehead and a “good night little sister.”


End file.
